


Lunch and Break

by allmilhouse



Category: Perry Mason (TV 2020)
Genre: Character Study, F/F, M/M, No Dialogue, perry deserves good things but misery really suits him tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 11:27:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25848787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmilhouse/pseuds/allmilhouse
Summary: While Della's out for lunch, Perry muses on lossset sometime after the s1 finale
Relationships: Hazel Prystock/Della Street, Perry Mason/Pete Strickland
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	Lunch and Break

Hazel comes by the office one day, to pick up Della for a girls' lunch, and he watches them as they get ready to leave. The way both their faces light up in smiles, Della looking happier than he'd seen all week, the slight blush on Hazel's cheek as Della's fingers brush her gloved ones. There's a burning in his chest, as if his heart's been taken out and he's been left behind, and in a way, that's exactly what happened. 

He follows the trial in the papers, of course. He doesn't know what would happen if he went to the courthouse and saw him in person. But the media was covering everything, Burger was doing a great job, and Pete's testimony seemed to be the nail in the coffin for the Radiant Assembly of God. 

He wants to be happy for him. He's proud, proud as hell that Pete's getting to show off his skills and intelligence, and that's getting paid well by the DA's office to do a good, necessary job. Pete's got a family, and aside from being a good provider, it's nice that he can finally show his kids his work, and that he can be a proud, respectable, upstanding guy and- that's a train of thought Perry can't bear to handle while sober. 

He hunts around, eyes scouring the full bookshelf for one of the hollowed out hardbacks. Della must've reorganized them, maybe to deter him from daytime drinking, but the clock says it's after twelve, so it's fair game now. He pulls a heavy volume off the shelf and eureka- schnapps. Not his favorite but sometimes you have to take what you can get. 

It's still an odd sensation sitting behind E.B.'s desk. He thinks maybe he should feel different, more important, as if he inherited the lawyer's gravitas in the will. Instead he still feels like Perry Mason, colossal fuckup. If you told him six months ago he'd be a bar-certified lawyer who tried the biggest case of the year, he wouldn't have believed it. But then, if you told him he'd lose both his house and Pete Strickland, that would've been harder to understand. 

He's lost a lot in this life. He's given up and gone without and sacrificed, his body, his youth, his peace of mind, and he didn't have much left to show for it. Especially now. 

He toys with the glass in his hand, figuring if he was going to drink in the office, he had to class it up a little. The light from the window catches it, shooting a small beam of light towards the door. The door with his name on it, like it means something. Like he's a man worth knowing. 

He stood for justice. He went toe to toe with a corrupt DA and while he couldn't bring real justice, he managed to stop a horrible injustice. Maybe that was the real Easter miracle. The resurrection of a fair legal system. 

Some days he thinks he's getting a big head. It's not the same, being alone. Not having Pete around to bring him back down to size. He kept Perry from getting lost in the horrors in his head, or from strutting down the street from landing another fifty dollar gig. It was Pete who usually figured out the work would merit maybe five bucks, and he'd be there to pick up the pieces after they got stiffed on the bill and Perry was beaten and left in the gutter. 

Pete was the one who taught him how to heal, with gentle fingers skimming over bruised ribs, or which way to tilt your head to get your nose to stop bleeding. He got him work to take his mind off of problems, and he got him drunk to take his mind off of work. 

And now here Perry was, drinking without him. And without work, for the moment. Della hadn't lied about wills and title claims being their bread and butter. It kept the bills paid and it was a nice change of pace from the adrenaline rush that was the Dodson case, but he still missed the thrill of the hunt, the glory of the chase. Tailing a guy for three days, going without food, sleep, and showers to get the picture and get the proof. Pete understood the appeal. Sometimes you used your mind, sometimes your body, but mostly your patience. And when it paid off, man did it feel great. 

They'd go to a diner after long cases, too keyed up from a job well done to get any rest. Pete would read those cheesy romances in the papers, his narrator sometimes going into gratuitous and lurid tangents. He'd draw the ire of other customers but Perry was always entertained. It was hard to resist Pete's charms. 

But he had, somehow. He let the best thing he'd known walk out of his life and into the DA's office. 

The nature of trauma is that you suffer immeasurable grief, and then you have to keep on living. E.B. had told him that, trying to coax him back into work after his parents died. But then E.B. was not exactly living proof of that mantra at the moment. Christ. This whole year had been one thing after another, another loss he was unable to process because there was suddenly a bigger, more imminent problem staring them down. And now there wasn't even a _them_. Della was here, unless she was with Hazel. Paul was here, but only when he was on the clock. They weren't chummy yet, there wasn't that easy, effortless camaraderie he and Pete had. 

Had. He had a friend, and now he didn't. He had a boss and now he didn't. He had a family and- 

He hears voices just behind the door. Hazel, dutifully returning her girlfriend back to work after their lunch date. He wouldn't have guessed her to be the gentleman in the relationship but what did he know? He hadn’t been the one in his either. The alcohol burns his throat, too much too soon, but he has to finish the drink and hide his pathetic misery before Della comes back in. Anger he could work with, it was familiar, comforting. But if she came in with a look of pity on her face, he'd fall apart for sure. Because there wasn’t time for pity now, to exhume the flaming wreckage of his life, to evaluate what went wrong and why it hurt so much. 

He straightened his tie and slicked back the hair he'd absent-mindedly ruffled. It was time to get back to work.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't remember which way you're supposed to tilt your head for a nosebleed and I hope it doesn't come up any time soon


End file.
